


The Rat Race Affair

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no small tasks in UNCLE, only small agents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rat Race Affair

The journey in was probably the worst part of this whole assignment. He clung to the undercarriage of the vehicle so tightly that he swore his nails made dents in the metal. The dust and smoke choked him, making him cough and sneeze. Still, it was enough to get him in through the gate, past the sentries, and to the main building in the compound.

Just when he thought he couldn’t hold on a second longer, the truck rattled to a stop. He moaned with relief, and spent a precious minute recouping his strength before darting away toward the basement window. He found a loose edge on the screen, and pried it up. He held his breath as he wiggled quickly through the hole and into the THRUSH satrapy. Steps One and Two were complete.

He’d memorized the interior of the building, so this next part was merely a case of not getting caught. He slipped in, staying close to the shadows, freezing when someone came near. No one saw him. They weren’t expecting such a blatant attack, not now, not in the middle of the day.

The corridor bent and he saw his next goal - the ventilator shaft. Making sure he was unobserved, he squeezed in and restored the grate behind him. It wouldn’t do for someone to see it lying on the ground and sound the alarm. For the first time since leaving the comfort of HQ, he allowed himself a moment to rest against the cool metal of the duct. Even so, there wasn’t time to do more than breathe deeply and hurry on.

He went straight for a hundred feet, turned left, then a second turn left, and a sharp right before he slid down the last dozen feet. He had reached his goal - the records room. Step Three was accomplished.

He eased out of the relative safety of the ventilator duct, and kept as low to the floor as he could. There were electronic eyes that mustn’t be triggered, not if he was going to pull this off. He had not come this far only to get captured.

The door opened, and his eyes went wide with alarm. Not now, he thought.  Not when he was so close to being successful.  It seemed impossible, but desperation forced his hand, and he crammed himself behind a rack of files. There wasn’t a fraction of an inch to spare. He closed his eyes and wished himself very small, smaller than small.

Acrid smoke tickled his nose. “Hey, you can’t smoke in here!”

“Calm down, I just wanted to see where the electronic eyes are. I don’t want to hit one of them. Lucas did and his wife is a widow now.”

“Lucas is an idiot.”

“Was an idiot, you mean.” They laughed. “So what do you think about the impending attack?”

“What of it? I say let UNCLE come. Not even a dust bunny could get into this room.”

Oh, he begged to differ. Between the cigarette smoke and the dust tickling his nose, he was too busy trying not to sneeze. Just when he thought it was all over, the visitors walked from the room, slamming the door behind them with a resounding _thunk._ He sneezed twice.

It took him longer to force his way out from behind the file cabinets than it did to locate the micro dots he’d been sent for. He tucked them away in his mouth, wincing as a sharp edge dug into his cheek. It didn’t matter. This was what he’d come for, and he wasn’t about to fail. Step Four fell into the ‘accomplished’ column.

He got back into the shaft, making sure he had left nothing behind, and headed back to his entry point.

Sticking his head out, he gave a tiny squeak of surprise and retreated back into the shadows. Two men, both wearing THRUSH jumpsuits, were stationed in front of the door. One of the pair jumped and aimed his rifle at a nearby shadow.

“Did you hear something?”

“Nope. Talk about a hair trigger.”

“I thought I heard something. Maybe that damned Kuryakin is here.”

“You have UNCLE on the brain. We are alone. Kuryakin isn’t anywhere around here.”

“I’m going to look around all the same.”

The THRUSH walked right past him, and he didn’t waste another second. Retreating back into the duct-work, he headed for the Plan B escape. It wasn’t as pretty, but it beat the hell out of being captured, tortured, and killed.

It took him two attempts to find the garbage chute, a wonder considering the reek that it generated. He wrinkled his nose, and eased his body into the chute. He tried not to think about what he was wading through. Finally he came out at an improvised garbage heap.

Suddenly, alarms started to sound, and the air crackled with tension. With one last burst of energy, he bolted for the fence and the forest beyond, burying himself in the branches and detritus that littered the forest floor. Jeeps and trucks poured from inside the compound, hopefully to meet their end at the hands of his fellow UNCLE agents.

After assuring himself that he was again alone, he got to his feet and ran.

It felt as if he’d been running for hours. He stopped twice, mostly to ease the cramps in his side and legs. It would be so easy to lie down and sleep now, but not when his reward was so close at hand. He did stop by a small stream to rinse the stink of the garbage from him, and to put things to right.   He had an image to uphold, after all.

His legs felt full of lead and his head full of sawdust when he heard someone calling his name. He headed wearily toward the sound, nearly crying in joy when he spotted the sedan and the two UNCLE agents.

“I’ll be damned,” Napoleon said, shaking his head. “I never thought that hare-brained idea could work.”

He passed over the microdots to Illya, who held them up for inspection and grinned. “Napoleon, say hello to Project Earth Shatter. Never underestimate Russian ingenuity.  Good job, Mickey!”

They were busy congratulating themselves, but he was too tired to care. He eschewed water and food and instead found a comfortable spot to curl up and rest. Tomorrow there would be new challenges, but for right now, he reaped the sweet victory of sleep. After all, it was hard work being the Mouse from UNCLE.

 


End file.
